The History of Now
by Chicklette
Summary: Life is a song, and love is the music.  An FBG fic for Bookjunkie1975.  Bella and Jasper, no Alice, no Edward.
1. You Do Now

**This was written with love and affection for BookJunkie1975. You have no idea how much I appreciate you. I only hope you enjoy this.**

**

* * *

**

**The History of Now**

**Chapter One – You Do Now**

.

.

"Gentlemen, if you would sign here and here?" The icy brunette taps her fingers against the paper with little "sign here" sticky arrows on them. Peter leans down to sign, then passes the pen to Em, who passes it to Riley, who passes it to me. I turn to look at Char, but she's checking her lip-gloss.

I look up at Bella Swan, the facilities steward for Eclipse, and sigh. When I'd first laid eyes on her, I thought there was some kind of mistake – she didn't look like she even _liked_ music. She wore a stiff, white blouse and dark gray skirt that came just above her knees. Black stockings and black heels, and her hair was up in one of those alien pod things at the back of her head. She wore small, frameless glasses and kept looking over the top of them at us. I'd pegged her as pushing thirty, and even though her body was rocking the power suit look, I still wished we could just get the day done and over with.

I look back at the contract in front of me. "There's no place for Char to sign," I say. It irritates the fuck out of me. Everyone always assumes she's just a piece of scenery – none of them has any idea how integral she is to the band, and how maimed we'd be without her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize she was a member of the band. I'm afraid I'll have to draw up an addendum to include her on the list. I can have the paperwork done in about an hour."

I huff out a sigh of frustration. This was supposed to take ten minutes, leaving us all enough time to get home, chill the fuck out for a while, then get back to the venue in order to run sound checks. Instead, Isabella Swan seems hell bent on making our life hard. She made us run through a list of rules & regs, as if we were some sort of band with a rep for being wild, like we couldn't behave like grown folk indoors. She still wanted to give us a tour of the sound and lighting equipment, and at the rate she was going, we'd never get home before the gig.

"Maybe we can sign off before the show?" I'm getting desperate for a compromise.

"I'm sorry. The waivers have to be signed prior to delivery of equipment. She can be a guest, if you like?"

"No, she's not a goddamned guest! She's a member of the band."

I'm ready to tear this bitch apart. From the minute we walked in she treated us like we were scum, and I've about had my fill.

Who is she to look down on us? She doesn't even know us.

Ten minutes later we have a plan. Char and I stay behind while Swan draws up the addendum. The boys would go home, pick up our stuff, and then we'd meet at four for a sound check. It's the best of a bad situation.

Char bails out – there's some boutique shops down the street that she wants to see. I sit in the front office, waiting for Swan to be done with the paperwork. After thirty minutes I finally leave. I just need something to cut my nerves, and I picked the wrong time to stop smoking.

I walk into the coffee shop, not really wanting the caffeine, but needing something to do with my hands. Quitting smoking is a bigger challenge than I'd ever imagined, and on days like this, hours before a gig, all I want is to sit in an alley and breathe the poison in deep, feel it hiss around in my lungs a bit before the calm takes over.

I look up and spot Isabella Swan. Of all the fucking luck.

She's waiting for her triple venti mocha chai whatever, looking every inch the professional, untouchable bitch that she is, when a man walks up to her and starts talking to her. He's scruffy and disheveled, and at first, she blows him off. But then he says something to her, and I watch as she falls back on good manners. She smiles and tries to look away. She pulls out her phone and starts texting. A moment later, he says something, and before my eyes, she comes undone.

Her posture changes, weakens. Her eyes dart toward the door, the barista. I don't know how she misses me.

"She looks like a child," the man says, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Take off those glasses, let's look at your pretty face."

She quails, looking at the floor, the barista again, and then back to the man.

"Come on now, let's see," he says, and takes a step toward her. Her fingers fly to her face and she pulls off the glasses. Without them, he's right. She's just a girl. All of her toughness, the ice queen demeanor, it's gone.

Her eyes flick around the room, and there's a pleading in them, something that says, save me. So I do.

I stride over to her in three quick steps.

"Isabella, darlin'. I thought you were going to meet me outside."

I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close to me, but keep an inch of space between our bodies. I'm surprised at how soft, how pliable she is.

"Play along," I whisper, into her ear.

She looks up at me, big, dark brown eyes, and something inside me clutches up.

"You order for me, sugar, or do we need to go stand in line?"

"Sorry," she says, her fingers fisting my shirt. "I wasn't sure what you wanted."

I kiss the top of her head, taking liberties, but I don't care. She smells great, girlsweet and good, and she's warm and soft under my hands. My whole body reacts. She's lucky it's just a kiss.

I pull away and take her hand, and we walk to the front counter. I order my drink and then stand with her while she waits for hers. As soon as the shabby guy clears the front door, I drop her hand.

"I hope you didn't mind," I say.

She shakes her head. We collect our respective coffees and I put my arm around her and guide her back to the venue.

"Thanks, I…"

I wave my hand to show her it's no problem.

Then she - she blushes. I mean, she turns pink from the collar of her blouse right up to the roots of her hair.

"The, ah, the tour," she says. "I can run you through, and maybe save you all some time?"

I nod and follow as she takes the lead, bringing me from one room to another. Finally, we're in the green room and I smile, because it's actually green. I can see PA's have already been through to set up. In another few hours, the food and booze will arrive.

I take a moment to look around. The walls are a hundred different shades of green. It varies from sea green to light green to something dark, and earthy. There are blue greens and yellow greens and every other color, in between. It's like being underwater, and my fingers touch the walls, tracing the bits of gold and silver that flash like mirrors, embedded in the paint.

"This is awesome," I say, meaning it in the true sense of the word.

"Like a hot dog?" she asks, and I laugh, thinking of the Eddie Izzard sketch.

Whoever Isabella Swan is, she's not the bitch I took her for.

"No, really," I say, my fingers dancing along the walls.

She blushes again, to her roots.

"Thanks."

I look her over again. She's squirming in her suit, and all at once, it doesn't fit her.

"You did this," I say, and I'm not asking a question.

She smiles and ducks her head.

"Yeah. I, uh…yeah."

"This is incredible." I take her hand and look around the room again. "You're really, really good."

"I, uhm," she gestures to her suit. "This isn't my real job. I mean, I said I'd do this if they let me paint."

"Yeah?" I ask. This is good. She is good. "Why are you fucking around with this office shit? You're really good."

She blushes, and her fingers tighten around mine.

I like it.

I like the feel of this girl, touching me.

"Thanks," she says, and I can see her getting ready to say something else. She fusses, pulling her fingers away and smoothing her skirt, then she straightens and looks me in the eye.

"Thank you."

I smile because I see it cost her something to say that to me.

A moment later, Charlotte walks into the green room, looking for us. And in that moment, the girl beside me disappears, and the woman reemerges. Her spine straightens, all the way up to her neck, and her head realigns itself toward the ceiling.

"One moment," she says, and leaves me and Char to the room.

"Sweet room," she says, looking around.

"Yeah," I say.

I turn around in this space she created and I wonder where the girl went, and what it will take to get her back.

.

Six hours later I come off the stage, lit up like a fire from the adrenaline. The show was amazing – our biggest crowd ever – and they _loved_ us. We opened with a kick-ass cover of _Maggie May,_ then launched into a small set of our own stuff. We played all of the fan favorites, then played a few covers, the some more of our stuff. Two encores later, and the house lights came up.

I sang, feeding off of the way the crowd responded to Char's words, feeding off of the energy that the band pumped out, and the way the crowd cheered and pushed it back to us. There's nothing like the high of coming off a good gig, and that was one hell of a good gig.

"Fuck! Yes!" Emmett shouts, jumping up in the air and doing a fist pump. "Did you hear them?"

Riley slaps us all with a round of high-fives, and Char giggles in the corner, sitting on Peter's lap.

"You're magic," he says, leaning in to kiss her ear.

"No," she says. "Jasper."

I laugh it off and Pete gooses her. Emmett is so pumped he's just jumping up and down, and Rye's already pulled out a bottled of Jack, passing it off to all of us.

We know we need to be packed up and out by one a.m., which is when the noise ordinances kick in, but right now, we're too keyed up to even think about leaving. We're too keyed up to do anything, but talk about how great we are, and take nips from the bottle that's being passed around.

The night feels like magic, like something from a movie, and when Bella stops by the green room to congratulate us, I find myself fighting the urge to swoop her up in my arms and swing her around the room.

Emmett doesn't. Fight it that is. He's a big guy, and he grabs her and wraps his arms around her and spins her around, until she's laughing and pushing at his massive arms, telling him to let her go. He puts her down with a kiss to her hand, then jumps up and tosses out another fist pump. A few people, friends of ours, start pouring in, and Bella pulls me aside.

"Look, if you guys need help packing up, Embry and Quil, the bartenders? They can help get your gear out and loaded. Just ask them."

"That's – thanks, that's great."

"No problem," she says. There's a soft smile on her lips as she slips out of the door while more revelers come in.

An hour later, we've come down enough to get to business. Quil and Embry help us get our gear out to the van and loaded, and Pete and Char are making one last pass through the stage and green room, making sure we've got everything.

I talk to them, then hunt around the theatre, looking for Bella Swan.

I find her, finally, struggling with a box of booze and a door.

"Here, let me help." I grab the box and bottles clink inside.

"Thanks," she says. "C'mon." She opens a door and we go up one, two, three flights of stairs. She opens another door with key from a key ring full of metal, like something a janitor would have, and then steps back to let me through. I wasn't expecting that, and I almost drop the box. We both juggle for it, and end up backing out of the door, onto the roof. We're giggling when the door closes, and Bella stops cold.

"Fuck." She looks at me, then looks at the door. "Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"

She walks to the door and jiggles the handle, but by now I've caught on and we're locked out.

"Shit." She says, and starts pacing the room. "Shit shit shit!" She feels the front of her skirt – I'm guessing it has pockets, and then swears some more.

"Wait!" She turns and looks at me. "You have a phone?"

I put the box down and remember that no, I don't. I left it in my car before the show. You never know who'll be lurking around back stage, and I hate having the thing on me during a show.

I wince and say I'm sorry, and she paces some more.

I go back to the door and start pounding. "Do you think if we yell someone would hear us?" I ask. "Aren't the bartenders still around?"

"No, I told them to help you guys out and then leave. That's why I was hauling that box of-" she looks at the side of the box. "-oh, God. Of _Zima_ up to storage. That shit doesn't sell for shit."

I chuckle, because it really is funny, getting locked out on the roof with nothing but a case of Zima to show for my troubles.

"Come on," I say. "I'm sure there's a fire escape, or something useful like that. Hey, maybe if we yell at the people on the street, they'll hear us and call 911."

Bella groans and looks around for the fire escape. We find it…and it's got a padlock on it.

"Of all the stupid fucking – Billy Black, I am going to skin you for this shit, I swear to fucking God I will."

Bella swears and paces some more. I walk over to the storage shed on the room and try the handle. It's locked too, of course. Who the fuck runs a theatre with nothing but locked doors?

Bella stands in front of me with excitement on her face. "What about your friends? Aren't they still here? We could yell down to them, right?"

I smile and shake my head. "I told them all to go on ahead of me." I'd wanted to ask a pretty girl if she'd give me her number or maybe have a drink with me.

She turns and looks at me, her eyes wide. "Oh! That's right. Someone still needed to sign off on the check out. Oh man, I have so ruined your night, haven't I? I'm so sorry."

I grin at her a little, then shrug, because of all the ways I planned to spend this night, somehow being trapped on a roof with this girl doesn't seem so bad.

I walk over to the case of Zima and pull it open. I grab two bottles out and twist off the metal caps. They're warm, but hey, we've gotta pass the time somehow.

"Let's brainstorm while we have a drink," I say, and offer her one of the bottles. She stares at me for a moment like I've lost my mind, and then, just like from this morning, the woman flees and the girl remains. She grins up at me and takes the bottle I offer. We toast to warm summer nights and grimace at the taste – lukewarm, too-sweet and slightly fizzy.

She leads me around to the other side of the stairwell. There're two couches and a table, and couple of rugs spread out. I survey the scene and cock an eyebrow at her.

"Billy, the owner? He bought new furniture for the green room a while back, and I suggested that we put the old stuff up here. It's kind of nice," she says, taking a seat on one of the couches. "It's nice to be comfy and still be…out."

Bella lifts the hand with the bottle to gesture to the world around us. We're in the middle of the city, but the warm evening air is soft on our skin. She's right. It is nice.

I gaze at the girl a minute. She walks over to the edge of the roof and leans on the safety wall. She sets the bottle down, then starts pulling pins out of her hair. It tumbles down her back and it's long and wavy. It's beautiful and I want to curl my fingers up in it, pull her head back so that I can reach her mouth with mine.

In the time I've known her, she's been a hard ass, a professional, a girl lost, and an artist. What else will she be, if I just wait on her some?

Walking back over to the couches, she sits down. I sit across from her and we settle in. Between the two of us, we drink six, and then twelve of the bottles of the too-warm, too-sweet booze, and by number four, it's not quite so bad. Bella makes me turn around and then ducks behind the couch to remove her pantyhose. I wonder if she's the kind of girl who wears underwear with them, but that thought is taking me places she's not ready to go, so I cut it off.

Sighing, she drops her shoes on the rug, flexing her feet and wiggling her toes. "Those heels are killer, but Billy likes us all to be professional."

I nod, then sit on the coffee table across from her. I pick up one of her feet and she jerks it back, violently.

"Oh my god, gross! My feet are all sweaty! And smelly! Gross!"

She moves to tuck her feet under her, and I lean over, fighting to keep a grip on her ankle. In our drunkenness, we both lose our balance and tumble to the floor. We land, me on the bottom, her sprawled on top of me. She's got her hands on my shoulders and I have mine on her waist…and her ass.

She looks up at me and I feel…I am lost. Struck dumb by this girl, who is soft and warm on top of me, moonlight shining off her skin and her hair, her eyes so dark I can't find the pupil. We stare at each other for a moment, and I can't read the look in her eyes. Does she want me? Does she feel me in her gut, like I'm feeling her?

Biting her lip, she looks away, then presses herself up, and away from me. The loss is immediate, and physical, and I press my hands flat on the floor to keep from grabbing her and pulling her back to me. We sit back down on the couch and give in to nervous laughter. Before long, it's like it never happened. She gives in and lets me rub her feet, and the sound of her moaning makes me hard. Harder.

Bella talks a while, tells me about growing up in a metropolis, how Billy Black, the owner of Eclipse, is an old family friend, and how she ended up subbing as the facilities steward when the last one ran off with a band. Billy was hard up and Bella knew the business, she just didn't like doing it. Before long, I get her talking about her painting, and that's when she starts to soar.

Her whole face lights up as she tells me about taking something out of her head, and putting it down on canvas, or plaster, in a way that other people could look at it and see it too. She tells me about how gratifying it feels when someone would say "this makes me think of the ocean," when that's what she intended, or "this reminds me of when I was a child," when that's exactly the emotion she wanted to convey.

"There's nothing like it, nothing so satisfying, you know?"

I don't. I'm too much of a coward to put my real self out there. I can take Char's words and give them inflection, pull them out and cut them short, but she's the one who makes the meaning. She's the one who gives her heart.

The night stretches on. and the sky begins to lighten as dawn bruises the sky.

Bella shivers and runs her hands over her arms.

"C'mere," I say.

I open my arms and legs and she watches me for a moment, before she gives up whatever fight she had going on in her head and lets me hold her.

I run my hands over her arms, feeling her through the thin cotton of her blouse. "You're freezing," I say, then pull her closer to me. She's stiff in my arms for a moment, then she leans back, relaxes. Her body against mine feels like it was made to be there and that gives me pause. When I got off the stage, I was thinking about Bella Swan. I was thinking about her under me, yielding and warm as I used her to use up the excitement and energy that I'd absorbed from the crowd.

But now, here, it's different. I don't want to just fuck her. I don't want to stop touching her, and I don't want to think about the moment when I'll have to open my arms and let this warm thing go.

I massage her arms, her shoulders. I reach down and brush her hair away from her neck, over her shoulder. My fingers run from the bottom of her ear to the crook of her neck. She is so soft.

I can't breathe, so I swallow instead.

She leans her head back, and it's a light weight on my shoulder. She's breathing fast, and I am compelled. I press my lips to the soft skin of her neck.

"Should I stop?" I ask.

She shakes her head, and in a voice so soft, I almost miss it, says no.

If I couldn't breathe before, it's all I can do now. Suck her in and push her out, in and out until I'm so full of her, her smell, that there is nothing else.

I dip my mouth back to her neck again, and kiss. And then again. And then again. I kiss the warm and smooth of her until I feel her start to arch in my arms, pressing her ass into my hips and pressing her head back, into my shoulder. I want to unbutton her shirt, see her bare in this soft, dawning light. I want to look at her, take her in, so that maybe someday I can spin her back out, write her into words, into song, so that the whole world can see how she shines.

Her mouth finds my jaw and she places a kiss, small and hot, against my chilled skin. Her arms reach behind her and thread through my hair. Her nails on my scalp make me wrap my arms around her waist, pull her tighter, closer. Can she get closer?

With her eyes closed, she turns in my lap. Turns so her legs are tangled with mine, turns so her mouth is before me, pink and sweet and waiting. I bring my hand to her face, cup her cheek and it fits there, small and cool and soft, it fits there in my palm like it was made to be there.

"Bella?'

She opens her eyes, but they're heavy with sleep and something more. Something hot.

She opens her mouth, but doesn't say anything before she sucks on her lower lip, and I see the flash of white as her teeth bite.

"Oh, no, little girl, I'm gonna need that." I stroke my thumb against her lip and she releases it. It seems like forever that we hover there, so close I can taste her breath. It seems like forever that she stares at me, and I try to read what she's saying in her eyes.

But then I give up, and so does she, because we both move at the same time. Her to me. Me to her. And when we kiss, when my mouth meets hers, there's nothing else. I feel like I've been holding my breath for an hour, just hoping she'll let me get this close. I feel like there's something hot and heady in my veins, something more than blood, sharper. Flammable.

Her mouth opens against mine and my body burns.

Her fingers stroke through my hair, pulling me harder against her mouth. My hands find her ass and I grind her into me. Part of me is embarrassed; I'm acting like a kid who's never been laid before. But part of me, the biggest part, just fucking needs this. Needs to crush her under me, feel the weight of her breasts in my hands, and taste her skin…everywhere.

Too soon, way too soon, she comes up for air. Her eyes are bright on mine, and she's panting. The lip goes back between her teeth and she looks…surprised?

"I don't date musicians," she says.

I take my hands off her ass and bring them to her hair. I rub my nails against her scalp and she sighs and presses her head back, into my hands. When I start to kiss and lick and suck on her neck, she moans and I feel it vibrate against my mouth. I tighten my hands in her hair, and she closes her eyes. She gives in.

I pull away and look her in the eye. "You do now."

* * *

AN: Much love and affection to FDM and Kris, who beta'd this baby. Zigster talked me through it. I love them a lot.

This will be a short fic – idk how many chapters but will update at least once a week, if not more. It's all written and beta'd, I just need to make the corrections and do the rewrites.


	2. This is the Moment

**AN: Written for Bookjunkie1975. She owns a little piece of my heart.**

**

* * *

**

**The History of Now**

**Chapter Two – This is the Moment**

.

.

By the time the cleaning crew comes and lets us off the roof, I'm more wrapped up in her than I know what to do with. I walk her to her office, then follow as she leads me to her truck – a big old Chevy that she chastises me for smiling at.

"It has a lot of space," she says. "For supplies and stuff." I nod because she's earnest and I like that. It feels like she's real, not just some girl playing a game of will-I-or-won't-I-let-you-fuck-me.

"Gimme your phone," I say, and when she does, I press my number in and save it. She takes the phone back from me and looks at it for a long moment.

"Smile," she says, and takes my picture.

I give her my best grin – the one that, even last night, made her look a little dazed – and then I make her smile for me. She does, but at the last moment, puts up her hand and turns away, and that's the picture that I have: Tangled brown hair and smooth white skin and the corner of her smile peeking out from behind ink-stained hands.

I look at it a few times that day before I give in and call her.

Then I do more than call her; I court her. I bring her flowers and take her to eat and I bring her around to band practice where she sits in the corner, sketching, peering up us from under the brim of Riley's hat. The guys all seem to like her, and a few times I've seen her and Char talking in soft voices in the corner while Bella blushes and takes peeks at me. Sometimes I give her the easy grin, but sometimes, I give her the wicked one.

And things go good. Being with Bella is easy, something I don't have to think twice about, and after the first two dates (movie and dinner for one, and ice cream at the beach for the other) I stop questioning every little thing and just let go to _be_ with her.

After four dates she lets me come inside her apartment. We make out on her couch like kids whose parents are in the next room, and I forgot how good kissing is. I forgot how it feels to just get lost in the taste and the feel, the warm and wet and soft. She bites my bottom lip each time we break apart, like she's trying to hold me to her just a bit longer.

She whimpers for me, and lets me touch her over her shirt, then under. Her bra is soft satin and between the feel of her breast in my hand, with the nipple pushing against my palm, and the sound of her breathing, the way she arches into my hands, and the sweet of her mouth, I find patience I didn't know I had.

It stops being about getting her naked underneath me. It starts being about earning her trust. She wants it slow, and she'll let me know when the light is green, and I trust her because it's either giving her what she wants, or getting nothing at all.

We're lying on her bed one morning – she lets me sleep over, and it tests the very limits of restraint to be that close to her, in a bed, and not bed her – when she turns in my arms and pins me with her eyes.

"Jasper? What's your middle name?"

It's the most innocuous question, but I know girls, and I really know this girl, so I know what this means.

"Clayton."

She smiles up at me. "Should have known. You're southern boy, through and through, aren't you?"

I tip my imaginary hat her way. "Yes, ma'am."

She giggles then leans down then and kisses my bare chest. Her mouth is so warm on my skin; I try not to read anything into it.

Still, our rhythms are what they are, and when her fingers dance on my skin and into my happy trail, I know what she wants. Without warning, I flip her over, pinning her to the mattress with my weight. One leg tangles between hers, and my hand at her hip pushes her down, where I want her.

My hand snakes into her hair and I cradle her head.

"Bella?"

She swallows and nods at me. I don't know if she's for sure though, and I don't want her any other way. I'm not gonna be some guy she regrets when she's forty years old and thinking back on her life.

Instead of doing what I know, I try something new. I ease my fingers into her pants, and then I ease her pants off. She giggles when my hair brushes against her belly, but when my mouth finds what it's looking for, she stops breathing altogether.

"Oh," she sighs. "Oh."

And it's not long before her fingers are in my hair, and I almost don't notice because I am so consumed by this girl. This small girl who lays herself open to me, and hides behind nothing. This girl who rushes forward because she's trying to catch up to me, and she doesn't even know that I'm standing still, waiting.

When I'm done, she's all smiles and sighs and long, lithe stretches against the sheets. Then when _she's _done, she turns me over and makes to return the favor. I let her – I _am_ a man – and if that's what her _mouth_ feels like? I am in so much trouble.

.

"How come Charlotte writes all of your songs?"

We're lying in my bed, because it's bigger than hers, and she's got her feet up on the wall, and her hair hanging down over the edge of the bed. It pools onto the green carpet. She's in shorts and a tiny white t-shirt, underclothes, really, because is Los Angeles in August and it's hot.

I shrug. "She's got the words, I guess." Bella doesn't know how sore the spot she's picking is, and I don't really want to get into it. I've got a dozen comp books in a box in my closet, every one filled with snatches of songs that I've written, and either couldn't finish or am too shy to share.

Bella takes my hand in hers, then rolls over so that she's curled into my side. Her fingers slide long my ribcage, and she scratches light patterns with her nails. It's soothing, she's soothing. When I get overwhelmed by whatever the fuck is in my head, she knows how to touch me and bring me back to where I should be.

She leans up and takes my earlobe in her teeth. "I think you should try it," she breathes, and her voice in my ear is so close and warm, my entire body breaks out in goose bumps. Then she straddles my lap and starts to rub against me, that way she has of doing it, all innocence, except I see the look in her eyes when it switches from teasing to needing.

I give her a lazy grin and watch with hooded eyes. "What'cha doin there, baby girl?"

She continues to rub against my dick, which is now very hard in my boxers, and then tosses her head back. I feel her hair brush my thighs and it magnifies my want of this girl tenfold, maybe more.

She reaches for the hem of her shirt, then lifts if off. Those tits, those perfect fucking tits, are there on display for me and she's undulating in my lap and she has pushed her luck just a little too far.

I grab her with one hand and flip us over with the other. She's pinned beneath me and I've got my mouth on her, sucking and licking that perfect little nipple until it's hard under my tongue. I press my hips against hers and when I finally raise my eyes to hers, it's almost enough to make me come.

Her eyes are heavy and shiny with wanting me, her mouth open and she's just watching me. I lap at her other breast with my tongue, and slide my fingers inside of her shorts. When I touch her where she wants me, her eyes close and the most delicious pucker appears between her eyes.

I rise up and whisper in her ear. "I want you, Bella. I want you so bad. Can't you feel it?" I press my hips against her again and she gives me that breathy whimper that tells me how ready she is. I slide her shorts and panties off, and she's where I've always wanted her: naked and yielding, beneath me.

I stare at her, because even though I've seen her? It will never be enough. And every time it's a surprise. I think I know what to expect – the white of her skin and the dark of her hair and her eyes staring up at me. But each time she gives herself to me this way, each time she lets me see her _bare,_ I can't help but wonder how this happened to me. Because, if she was sexy the first time I met her? She's beautiful now.

As I stare, I notice her blushing. It starts just above her breasts and reaches to the tops of her cheeks and something about it makes her so goddamned irresistible. I fall to my elbows, covering her with my body. Her arms open to me, welcoming me. Then her fingers pull at my shirt until we are skin to skin and I could be here for an hour, just like this. Just _feeling_ her.

She shifts beneath me, pulling her legs up and back until they're wrapped around my hips. I pull back, because I can feel her through my shorts and I don't want to create an accident, but her legs tighten around me.

"Jasper?" We've been getting closer to this every day, and this time when I look into her eyes, I can tell that this isn't just about lust. This is some kind of need, a communion, and I'm not saying no.

Instead, I reach over her, to the nightstand, for a condom. I pull off my shorts and she watches me get ready for her, her fingers twitching against the sheets, like she can barely stay herself.

Then I'm on top of her, and then I'm inside of her, and then and then and then…there is nothing. Nothing else but this. Not the music from the stereo, and not the warm of the room or the light, or anything that isn't her. Me and her.

She presses herself into me, onto me, and with my face buried in her hair, I am so surrounded by her, so suffused with her sound and her smell and her feel, that it obliterates everything else.

She makes breathy little moans and grunts in my ear, and gasps in surprise when I slide one hand under her ass to help her move. I want to stay here, buried in her forever, but I also need to see her and so with one last suck of her smell, I pull back and watch her as she's watching me.

I rise up on my knees and she wraps her legs around me, keeping us joined. I watch as she moves with me, taking what she needs, and I realize that getting what I need is just a side effect. It's just the thing that happens because she gets what she needs.

"Oh, Bella, look at you. You're so fucking sexy." I slide my hand down her stomach, up between her breasts, watching her move her body for me.

A small crease appears between her eyes and her lip goes back into her mouth. She's trying now, feeling it and trying, so I make it easier with my fingers on her, doing all the things I know she likes.

"Is that it, baby girl? Right there?" She gives me the sweetest moan, closes her eyes and bites her lip harder.

"Yeah, that's it, isn't it? Right there, baby. That's it…let it go. Come on, pretty girl, give it to me."

I know she's close, so close, and I know she loves to hear me saying sweet, dirty things – I know it makes her lose it, and I want her lost.

What I didn't know was how it would feel when it happened. It didn't feel like the usual she-got-hers-now-I-can-get-mine. It feels like…fucking pride. It feels like I've done something good to deserve this, to deserve her and her face drawn up in pleasure, her eyes squeezed tight as she flies, there in my arms.

I lean down over her, and shower her with kisses, all over her face, her hair, her neck. I nuzzle into her, and I feel her smile against my face as she comes down from her high.

"Jasper." She's doe-eyed and tangled, and her legs and arms flex to pull me to her, into her. Her hips thrust up at mine and in a minute, maybe less, I'm frantic and selfish and needful for this girl, for the light that's starting to spark behind my eyes, starting to pull me under, and all I can do is follow.

It feels like forever. It feels like really fucking good weed and good booze, and it feels like lazy mornings with no place to be, and it feels like the best thing there ever was.

She brings me back to earth with a giggle in my ear, the sound of it sending a thrill down my spine.

I pull back and eye her. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she says. "Everything. That was…amazing. You're amazing," she says, and when she says it, I feel it.

.

"We should go away," she says, and her face is all lit up like it's Christmas morning. She's sitting on the couch in Riley's garage, and we're waiting for the rest of the band to show up. He's done a good job with the place. There are old rugs all over – even on the walls, to help buffer the sound and keep the notes true.

"Oh yeah? Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know…San Diego maybe? We could go to the zoo, or the Wild Animal Park?"

I smile down at her, because she's as excited as a kid, and if there's one thing I want for sure, it's more of those smiles.

"Okay. When do you want to go?"

She grins and then becomes thoughtful. She wasn't expecting to win me over so easily, I can tell. Doesn't she know yet that I can't deny her?

"Maybe next Monday and we can come back on Wednesday? Will that work?"

We don't have a show the next week, so yeah, that'll work.

I tip my head to her, in a gesture that says "come kiss me," and she does. I'm just about to wrap my arms around her when Riley bursts into the room.

"Holy shit! Holy shit! Where is every one?"

Riley does this bouncy, jumpy thing, like he's about to literally come out of his skin. His hair's gotten long and it flops over his gray eyes. They're bright with his excitement.

"Uh, Pete & Char went for beer and Em's on his way. What's going on?"

"Shit, oh, shit!" He paces/bounces for a minute, then stills, then jumps in the air. "Fucking AV Records called man! They're – they want to meet us! They want to like, talk about a deal or something. I don't man, I don't know. This could be it."

I ask Rye to calm down, even as my own excitement builds. AV Records is big time. This could be the break we've been working for, praying for.

Emmett comes in next, and before long, the three of us are slapping each other on the back and doing our own bouncy laughing dance around the garage. When Pete & Char come in, the noise level hits fever pitch.

There's excitement coursing through my veins, and my head already has me standing in front of thousands, singing and slipping into the music, getting lost there in between the energy of the crowd and the rhythm of our songs.

I look into the eyes of my friends, at their faces, and I see my own hopes and fears in each of them. We move and churn in our small space like dancers in a slow-mo movie scene; it's all there, transparent and clear to anyone looking. In that moment, we are a single organism, we are weightless and we move together, talk together, cheer together as one.

When our high wears us down, we finally sit on the couches and chairs and floor, talking about making it big, talking about houses and cars and private islands. Years from now, I'll look back on this moment with the kind of clarity that only distance brings, and I'll understand that this is the moment when everything changed.

This is the moment that I lost her.

* * *

AN: Beta'd by the Always Amazing FDM and Kristen. Zigster held my hand and looked up "green room" with me. Any mistakes herein are mine.

Recs:

Committed to Memory by Krismom.

Wanderlust and Home, both slash and written for the Dirty Talking Jasper Contest.


	3. Where Does That Leave Us?

Written with love and affection for Bookjunkie1975. She owns a little piece of my heart.

* * *

**The History of Now**

**Chapter 3 – So Where Does This Leave Us?**

.

.

It's late when I drive Bella home.

We stand outside her door and she doesn't invite me in. She yawns and looks half-asleep already.

"Can I come tuck you in?" It feels awkward asking, but I'm ready to come down, and holding her will help.

She nods and yawns again. I sit on the edge of her bed while she gets ready. When she comes out of the bathroom, her face is clean and bare, and she looks all of seventeen. I stand and pull the covers back, and wait for her to climb in. I lay next to her, holding her small body in my arms, nuzzling my face into her hair. She always smells so good.

"So," she yawns. "San Diego – I guess we'll hold off."

"Oh, yeah. Damn. Well, maybe not. Let me talk to the guys and see what's going on. Maybe we can still make it."

Bell smiles and turns in my arms. "Don't worry about it. This is a lot bigger than a mini-break. You guys need to focus on being your best." She's looking at my mouth as she talks, so I bring it closer until we're kissing.

It's not long before I'm inside of her, and I was right. She is exactly what I needed to come down from this.

.

AV Records signs us, and the next few weeks are a blur. The A&R guy is sending us out on a club tour all over the western US. They're trying to create some name recognition so that when we release an album we'll have enough buzz that people will play it, and buy it.

We're practicing our hearts out, Char's writing and working the phones and making arrangements, and Bella hangs out in the corner, taking us all in. She lets me skim through her sketchbook sometimes. There are moments she captures with her eye, in graphite, on paper, that I've never seen. Moments that I've lived – tuning my guitar with my tongue sticking out the corner of my mouth, Char curled over her comp book while Pete watches her, playing with a pick – that I can't recall, but that I know happened.

I look at her drawings and I understand why they call it art. There's beauty in the way that she takes in the life all around her, all around us, and spins it back out into something tangible, something we can keep with us, always.

I spend as much time as I can with Bella, and she still brings me down, gets me calm. In her arms, I find the place where I am only me, where there is no excitement, no rush, only us. Only the sweet of her mouth, or the soothe of her fingers. She makes me tea, and feeds me coffee cake that she made with her own hands.

Still, at times, there is a distance in her eyes. There is a sense that, even as she lays herself open to me - her legs, her body, her mouth, and her art - there is something that she's holding back, and it makes me sad. I want her, and I want all of it. I don't know what the missing piece is, but I need it. Maybe it's just stress from the upcoming tour. I don't know.

.

We pile into the van. There's a small trailer on the back with all of our equipment, and Riley bought the biggest padlock he could find. It's almost funny, but one of our biggest fears is having our equipment jacked.

Bella hovers nearby. Besides Pete, I'm the only one with a girlfriend. I feel shitty leaving her behind. She's going to try to come up to Portland for our show there and maybe stay a few days and hit Seattle, too, but other than that, I'll be eight weeks without her. I already miss her and she's still in my arms.

"Be safe," she whispers, into my neck.

"You too, little girl." I hold her tighter to me, feeling the warm of her thighs against mine and running my hands over her ribcage. She's lost weight.

"Don't let Billy work you too hard."

"I won't," she says. "I promise."

The guys honk the horn and that's my cue.

"Gotta go, baby."

She nods and smiles so brightly it hurts, in my chest.

What I have to say to her now is normal, natural, and true. What I have to say to her is that I love her. I love her, and I think she loves me too.

The horn honks again and I flip them off without looking. My fingers trace the curve of her cheek; she's still smiling at me, but not looking me in the eye.

"Bella?"

Her eyes flash to mine, and it's now or never.

But then her fingers come up to my lips. I kiss them and she places them over her heart. I mimic her actions, and she nods and smiles.

"Come home soon," she says. "I'll miss you."

"I'll call you, tonight, I promise. I-"

"I know, now go!"

Pete's behind the wheel and he starts revving the engine. I hear Em and Riley and Char yelling for me.

I give her one last squeeze, smile, and peck on the cheek before I fall into the back of the van.

When I look out the window, she's watching us go, waving. Her dark hair blows in the breeze, lifting off her shoulder. For the next eight weeks, I'll see that image of her in my head every time I close my eyes and try to sleep.

.

Eight weeks on the road teaches you a lot about folks you thought you knew. It teaches you about patience and respect, and it teaches you to appreciate all those little things you take for granted, like hot, running water and…beds.

I don't get to talk to Bella as much as I'd like, but I take pictures of things I think she'd like to see, and I send them to her on my phone. Problem is, between her schedule with the club, and my schedule with the tour, it's hard for us to catch a break.

She hired a replacement to work at the theatre, but the guy quit after three days. So, she couldn't come to our Portland show and, of course, she didn't make it to Seattle. Watching Char and Peter, man, those two have it wrapped. They spend every day and every night together, and I know it's been since they were in high school, but they still look at each other that way that couples do. You know, they look at each other like love. It makes me ache for the girl that's sleeping alone tonight, and I regret not telling her that I love her before I left.

She should have heard me say that.

As the van coasts into town, I am struck by a sight that will stay with me forever: Bella is sitting on the front steps of Riley's house. She's wearing a dress, something with flowers on it and a puffed-up skirt, and her hair is loose and tumbling around her face. She's got her head in her sketch book, but when she hears the van, she looks up and the sight of her smile goes right to my gut.

She's in my arms the moment I step from the van. It's not some overblown Hollywood kiss. I don't kiss her at all. I just bury my face in her hair, and she presses her face to my chest, and I feel the sweet press of her arms on either side of my neck. In this moment, everything becomes dim. The noise of wheels on the road and six people in a van and the constant, mind-numbing rattle of the chains from the trailer and the roar of the crowds and the feel of the music, all of it dims until it no longer exists. Until all I can hear is the sound of her whisper and all I can see is her smile, her skin, _her._

"I missed you," she whispers.

"Oh, little girl." I clutch her harder, and then bend and pull her up, so he legs are around my waist. I lean back against the side of the van, and then I'm looking into her eyes, and I'm seeing that she feels me, feels this, just as strong as ever.

I press my mouth to hers, and she sighs and I calm, and ten seconds later, Emmett is pulling her off of me.

"Fucker, put her down."

He spins her around and she giggles, and then he sets her down carefully, making a big show of it.

"Sorry, Bella. We gotta get unloaded and this slacker-" he pauses to cuff me on the back of the head – "has been a shit to deal with for the last two months, so we're making him do most of the work.

I chase off after Emmett, but he's already gone.

Bella leaves as we get the van unloaded, but promises to be back. When she arrives, she's got a pan of lasagna, two loaves of garlic bread, and a case of beer. The guys all cheer, and she tells them they can't have any unless they're nice to me.

We haven't had a decent meal – let alone a _home-cooked_ meal - in weeks. They would promise her their first-born if they thought it would get them grub.

She just laughs and takes it all in, but her fingertips don't leave my skin for more than a moment or two at a time. I'm glad she needs me close, because I need her, too.

That night, we go to her place and there in her bed, with the smell of clean linen all around me, we make love. It's desperate and slow, it's urgent and gentle. When I come with my face in the crook of her neck, and she clutches me tight with her small hands, the canted world becomes right.

.

A few days later, we're getting back into our routines. Char wrote a lot on the road, and now we're trying to work her words into music. There's a lot of back and forth - this is a collaborative effort, and we all want it that way. No one's input is more valuable than anyone else's, and because of that, we are all invaluable. At first, the guys are squeamish about letting Bella sit in on these sessions, but Charlotte swears she doesn't have a problem with it, and once she lends her support, everyone else agrees.

Having Bella in the room changes me though. At first, I'm nervous. I wonder what I look like to her, what I sound like. Then I catch her gazing at me, with a soft smile on her face, and I feel calmed, and I relax, and we all get our groove on.

Then the record company calls and they've found us a producer. Then a venue. Then the venue falls through. Then they find us a new one, and the producer falls through. It's one thing after another, and while I'm glad we have some time to work out our new stuff, I wish I knew what was going on next month, or the month after.

Bella keeps working the theatre, and I come by and see her most nights that there's a gig. Well, I come by and see her most nights, no matter what, but I like being able to watch her when she's working a show. I don't see that cool, professional woman much these days, and I like knowing that she's got that in her – a little bit of steel under all that soft. It makes me worry less about her.

And when she's done and we've locked up, I take her home and we climb into the bed and she surrounds me with everything she's got. I take it all, too, and then give it back to her. I'm the happiest I've ever been. The music is good and the girl is a wonder, and I keep thinking of different ways to say I love you, something that she'll remember forever, because the more I get of her, the more I want.

Sometimes she has nightmares, and then it's my fingers on her face, in her hair, soothing her until she's breathing steady again, and my lips on her cheeks until she smiles and falls back to sleep. Sometimes I can catch her before she wakes up, and those times, I feel like a knight or magician – slaying her dragons and leaving her to sweet sleep. I want to always be there for her, even in her dreams.

In all, though, it's idyllic.

And then?

It's not.

.

The day I find Bella to tell her my bad news, she's got some of her own. The record company is sending us to New York to record our album. They want a bunch of the new stuff, so we've been hustling to get everything just right for the songs. Between gearing up the band to record and her job, we hardly see each other. When we do, we're tired and strung out, and when we find an island of time, it's like we can't get close enough.

When I tell her about New York, I'm ready for her to be sad, or even angry. I'm ready to ask her to come with me, because that's what I really want.

Instead, she shuts me out. She stares at her hands for a long time. I keep talking, explaining how everything can work, but I know she's not hearing a word I'm saying. I know she's off inside her head somewhere, and when she finally meets my eyes, my heart is broken for the look in hers.

I shake my head, warding off whatever she's about to throw at me.

She walks to her desk and pulls out a letter, hands it to me.

I skim the contents once, then twice. Then I slow down enough to read what it says. College of Art. Full Scholarship. Fall admission. San Francisco. Three weeks.

Three weeks.

I realize what this is and I pick her up, hold her close.

"Bella, I'm so proud of you. This is incredible!"

I spin her until she smiles, and kisses my cheek. When I look back in her eyes, though, they still look like someone died.

"I didn't even know you applied for this. When did this happen?

She shrugs and won't meet my eyes. "You guys were gone. It was just…a whim, I guess. I never thought they'd accept me, or that I'd be able to afford it."

I smile and pull her onto my lap, and she twines her arms around my neck, holding on.

But now that I'm proud, I'm still going to New York. And she's still going to San Francisco.

"So where does this leave us?" I ask, because I really fucking need to know what's on the line here.

She shrugs and presses her face to my neck. I hold her there and let her calm down, and then pull away to look at her. She straddles my lap, there on her bed, and I hold her while I hold my breath.

She gives me a shaky sigh, and then looks me in the eye. "I think…I think we…." Her chin quivers. "I think we should break up."

* * *

**AN:** Beta'd by the Lovely and Amazing Kris and FDM. Hand-holding by Zigster. The three best friends a girl could ever want. Amery Marie fixes my commas, and believe you me, that's one tough job. I'm grateful to them all.

Thank you to all of you who are reading. Jasper/Bella fans are the best fans in fandom!

There are a lot of great entries in the Dirty Talking Jasper contest. In case you didn't get enough J here.


	4. Come to Jesus

This was written with great affection and love for Bookjunkie, 1975. Belief in a person is a powerful thing.

.

**The History of Now**

**Chapter Four – Come to Jesus**

.

.

_**Two years later:**_

.

"Jesus Christ my head fucking hurts. Fuck, Emmett, can you just chill out for a minute? I need some aspirin."

I make my way to the kitchen of the overblown house they've rented for us in Big Sur. We've got three months to write and record, but I know I can push them to six if I have to, and I think I'm gonna have to.

The coastal fog hasn't rolled out yet, and it's cold on my skin. I look down and notice I'm only wearing boxers, the clingy kind, and that's kind of a relief. Lately, I wake up naked with used condoms on the floor and no idea who I fucked the night before, unless she's still in the bed.

"Come on." Emmett grabs me by the elbow and takes me into the bathroom. He closes the door and hands me a tumbler of water.

I take a long drink and realize too late it's vodka. The second the booze hits my stomach, it comes right back up, and brings everything else in my stomach back up with it.

By the time I'm finished retching, I'm crouched over the toilet, shaking, with tears in my eyes and puke on my chin. The bathroom reeks like a bar at closing.

"The fuck'd you do that for?" I ask, leaning back to rest against the wall.

"You needed to puke to feel better."

He hands me a bottle of water and a few Tylenol.

When I reach for them, he grabs my wrist. "You done yet?"

"I think that was everything."

Without warning, Emmett yanks me to my feet. Even at six four, I'm a few inches shorter than him, and he's got a lot of pounds on me – all muscle.

He shoves me into the wall.

"Motherfucker. Are you done? Is it enough yet? Because we're all watching the "Poor Jasper" show, and every one of is us wondering if today's gonna be the day you don't wake up. So I'm asking you again: Are. You. Done?"

"Fuck you." I twist out of his grip and walk to my bedroom. It takes three minutes to get into my clothes and, thank fuck, my keys are still in my pocket.

I walk into the living room and everyone's in there, faces fallen, closed in on each other.

"You guys have a fucking problem with me?" I challenge them, taunt them, dare them to call me out again. Feed fuel to my fire. I've been dying to burn.

Peter finally stands up and stares at me, then sighs and bows his head. "Whatever, man. Do what you're gonna do." He holds his hand out for Char, and they walk past me toward the stairs. Riley follows, and then it's just me and Emmett.

He looks up at me from the couch and his expression makes my stomach flop. The Tylenol threaten to make a reappearance.

"Quit being such a fucking cliché," he says. The he gets up and brushes past me too, and I'm standing there, alone.

.

So, a Ducati on a slick, foggy road paired with a hellacious hang over probably isn't the best thing I could have done for myself. Before long though, the cold bites through my jeans and the vibrations of the bike start to soothe my stomach.

I pull over outside of Monterey Bay and get a shitty motel room. Old guy at the desk doesn't recognize me, which is great. I buy a pack of smokes and fifth of bourbon at the convenience store, then go to my dingy, musty room and pass out.

I sleep for hours in the soft gray of the day. It's like time doesn't exist in these coastal towns. The fog rolls in and sometimes it doesn't clear all day. Between that and the marine layer, it's easy to feel sleepy. The cold of the room helps too.

When I wake up, my watch says it's nine. That could be am or pm; I'm not sure.

I walk out the front door and see that the day is light gray. AM.

There's a young Latina girl wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but pushing a maid's cart. I flip the "Do not Disturb" sign on my door, and pocket the key. My stomach growls at me, and I hush it with a smoke, but there's a big flashing sign ahead saying pancakes, and my feet take me where my mouth wants to go.

The diner is small and worn, but clean. There's a few older women running around in support hose and white nursing shoes, and I figure they've probably been waiting tables here their whole lives.

I sit down at the counter and order…everything. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, hash browns and when she asks "You want biscuits and gravy with that?" I say "Sure."

She gives me a real smile. "Good boy."

The coffee is strong, black and good. My stomach kicks a little at the acid, but settles with the first forkful of pancakes. By the time I'm done, I've had a half pot of coffee, a fuck ton of food, and I feel…good.

Getting checked out is the next order of business. I walk toward the path that leads to the motel, but then change my mind when I see a jogging path set down by the ocean. After about half a mile, I find a footpath down to some rocks. I sit and watch as otters poke their heads up, then dive back down to the ocean floor, looking for food. A seal comes and a crowd comes, and for a little while, I'm nervous to turn around and see them. When the seal heads back out to open water, the crowd dissipates.

I don't like being recognized.

When I get back to the room, I run the bath. The tub is clean, though old. The enamel is chipped and showing the black metal underneath. I fill it with hot water and climb in, feeling heavy with sleep and food.

The next thing I know, the water's cold and I'm shivering, startled awake by a nightmare.

It sends a shot of fear through me. I could have died just now. And, god, how long before anyone would have known?

Climbing out of the tub, I notice that my skin is white and my limbs are…thin. I look in the mirror and fuck if I know who that is looking back at me. There's nothing I recognize there.

I run a hand through my hair and spot the bottle of bourbon on the nightstand. I think on that for a minute, Emmett's words shooting around in my head. I think about how it tastes; the cheap bourbon that burns and the good stuff that warms. Easy to get lost in that, I think. Easy as bending an elbow.

Then I look down at my hands, and they're shaking.

Yeah. Fuck that.

The old guy at the front desk says it's cool if I stay a few more days. I hand him a credit card and the charges clear. Is Charlotte still paying our bills? I have no idea. He gives me directions to a strip mall up the road, and there I buy a charger for my cell phone and a couple of novels. My hand lingers over a Louis L'Amour, and I buy that one too.

I grab chips and cookies, and a six-pack of water. I pick up a baseball cap with the city name on it, and a pack of white t-shirts. Carrying all that shit with me, I decamp to my motel room. The door is locked tight behind me. The booze is in the nightstand drawer.

My phone finally beeps about twelve hours later. I was caught up in some spy-on-spy intrigue; I'd forgotten how much I used to love to read to pass the time. When I check my phone, it's a text from Emmett.

_You coming back?_

I don't know how to answer him. I can't go back there now. It's too much – the pressure of seeing them and who I've become. My chest starts to tighten and I feel my heart pound. I can hear it, in my ears, thudding hard against my chest, and I think, oh, fuck, am I having a heart attack?

Pulling myself into a ball, I start to rock on the bed, waiting for the pressure, this feeling, to fade. When it does, I'm gasping and shaking. The words _panic attack_ float to the top of my mind, and I know without question that I just had one.

Staring at the phone, I wonder what to say. Is there anything I can say to them now?

Thirteen responses are typed and deleted.

_Can I have a few days?_

I hit send before I can change my mind.

_Sound check on Friday at three._

I'm not sure, but I think it's only Tuesday, so that should be okay, right? The show's in San Francisco, and I'm already halfway there.

_Will be there. – J_

.

Three days without a drink feels good. I check out of the motel room and kick the Ducati into gear. We're checked into the Frances Drake for Thursday night, and I don't want the guys to think I won't show. I know I haven't been reliable, and, god, they deserve better.

The ride into San Francisco is quick, and I've got time to kill. It's late September, and spectacular out. It's warm enough and the sun is shining. Everything is green and gorgeous, and I can smell fall mixed in with the brine from the ocean.

Checking into the hotel is easy. I leave a message at the front desk so that Emmett and the others know I made it in okay. Then I take the bike around the city. The way the hills rise and fall have me leaning forward in my seat. My stomach flutters as I kick down to second gear to roll down a huge hill. I can't imagine living here; the way the houses sit upright on the slanting streets makes me a little woozy.

I ride through the Castro and the business district, and up and down the wharf. I finally head over to the Haight, and park the bike. There's a hundred junky souvenir shops mixed in with mom and pop businesses, and kitschy new start-ups. I have lunch at a vegetarian restaurant – an open-faced roasted vegetable sandwich that's so good, I end up scraping the plate. Then I walk across the street to Golden Gate Park.

The sun's hanging low in the sky, and in another couple hours, it will be dark. I don't want to spend my night lost in the park, so I don't wander too far. I go past the playground and the bowling greens, and finally end up near the lily pond. The way is a shaded dirt path, and it isn't long before the sounds of civilization are overwhelmed by something softer: birds and bugs and quiet. Still.

I sit and watch the water a while. Dragonflies, bright blue and green, skim the top of the pond, and I can see algae has grown thick. Across the pond, there's a girl under a tree, doodling something in a sketchbook.

She lies on a blanket and has long, dark brown hair that shines with hints of red in the sun. I stare at her a minute, thinking about Bella and the last time that I saw her.

.

"_It doesn't have to be like this. We can make it work."_

"_How, Jasper? How do we make it work when your life is in New York, and mine is in San Francisco?"_

"_We'll work it out. I'm only going to be in New York for six weeks. You can't wait for six weeks?"_

"_No. It's six weeks to cut the album and then a few more weeks of post-production and then there's publicity tours and getting your faces out there and before we know it, it's been six months and we've only seen each other a handful of times. Meanwhile, we're both miserable and missing each other. Is that how you want to live your life?"_

"_No, but I'm willing to sacrifice today for tomorrow."_

"_I'm not." She can't meet my eyes and I'm angry at her, but I want to comfort her, too. I can't stand to see her cry._

"_Bella." She's soft in my arms, clinging. I kiss the top of her head._

"_You have to go, Jasper. This is your dream, and you have to chase it."_

"_Come with me. We can do this together."_

_She shakes her head against my chest._

"_I can't. I can't give up my dream for you, and you can't give up yours for me. It's just…shitty timing."_

"_I love you, Bella. I don't want this."_

"_I don't either. But I can't do this all again. I can't…I can't miss you and love you and be afraid every time I go online that I'm going to see pictures of you with some girl."_

"_Are you really dragging that asshole into this? I'm _not_ him."_

"_Jas, I'm not saying you are. I just…I can't do it again."_

"_It won't be like that. I'm not him."_

"_I know, I know. But I can't."_

_At this, she cries harder. She cries until she's shaking, until she's gasping for air, and I hold her, pull her onto my lap and rub her back, and show her that I love her. I need her._

"_I love you too," she says, pressing her forehead into my chest._

In the end, there was nothing for it. She was right; I knew that. Maybe if she hadn't gotten that scholarship, she would have come with. Maybe if the last musician she dated hadn't cheater on her, she'd be able to trust me. Maybe if I'd met her a few months earlier, we would have been stronger, better able to fight the things that were pulling us apart.

Maybe if….

I'd spent so much time thinking about that girl, turning my love for her around to hate, wishing that she would have given us a better shot. Wishing that she was wrong. But I knew she wasn't.

I walk over to the girl on the blanket, my heart and my stomach doing funny things the closer I get.

"What'cha got there, little girl?"

And there it is. Her teeth grab onto her lower lip and then she turns and squints up at me. I get caught up in her warm, brown eyes and then she's smiling, and then she's hugging me.

"Holy hell! Jasper Whitlock, what are you doing here?"

I shrug and give her a squeeze, then pull away to really look at her. She's the same, but she's different. She's…grown. Not taller, but she looks more like a woman and less like a girl.

"You look so good," I say, because it's the truth, and here in her gaze, I have to be honest.

She blushes…that same blush, and I watch it creep up the neck of her collar and onto her cheeks. Delicious.

"You look…like shit," she says, wincing.

I laugh and hook my thumbs in my jeans. I shrug and she smiles. "Sit down. Catch me up."

So we sit and talk, as dusk settles around us. It grows colder and I take off my leather jacket for her. She slips it on and closes her eyes, breathing in deep.

"Love the smell. Of, uh, leather."

Her cheeks color again and all that hate for her, and all that love for her, they start to battle it out in my heart. I feel raw, looking at her, like those feelings never dimmed, they just got put away.

We spend some more time talking, and when I ask her to dinner, she says yes. We get sidetracked at Amoeba Records, though, and spend two hours playing different songs to each other. I could have played music for her for hours, but someone recognizes me, and so we bail out of the shop and head up the street.

A few steps away, Bella looks at her phone, then pulls me to a halt.

"I have to go," she says. "I have to meet someone, I'm gonna be late." She shrugs out of my jacket and hands it back to me, then leans up into me for a hug.

"So good to see you," she says.

"You too. Hey, you want to come to the show tomorrow? I'll leave tickets at the door – bring a friend."

She shakes her head. "Heading down to LA tomorrow morning for a few days. I wish I could."

I don't know what to say to her now. I don't want to let her go again. Talking to her, these hours with her, were the most comfortable I'd been in a long, long time.

"I don't-"

"You should-"

We both start and stop at the same time.

"Will you keep in touch?" she asks. I nod and she scrawls her email address on a page of her sketch book. It's a picture of a water lily, drawn in charcoal and pastels, the colors bleeding together, and so bright, it almost glows.

"God, you're good." I say, looking at the picture.

She smiles and squeezes my hand. The look in her eyes breaks my heart.

Then she turns and walks away.

.

I don't have anywhere else to go, so I head back to the hotel. There's a full bar in the corner and it's calling me, telling me that if I drink enough, I can just pass out. Not pass out – black out, and that's what I want.

But then I think about Emmett's rage, and Bella saying I look like shit, and she didn't look like shit. She looked so goddamned good.

The in-room porn's shitty, but if I don't overdose on lust, I'll overdose on something else, and I realized something in the last few days: I'm not as ready to go out as I thought I was, and given the option between living and dying, I'll take living.

Emmett's pounding on my door at noon, and I stumble to the door wearing dirty clothes. I'll need something to wear tonight, and I wonder if someone at the hotel can just take care of it for me.

When I open the door, Emmett looks at me with a wary eye. He glances at the bar, around the room behind me, and looks back at me.

"You okay, man?"

I chuckle. "Profoundly not, I think." I walk away, leaving the door open and hear him close it behind me.

"What the fuck's going on, Jay?" He sits on the couch across from me, and his words aren't as sharp or accusing as they've been the past few months.

I need his help, and we both know it. It feels like this is my only shot at getting it.

I shrug. "I don't know…I just…. Doesn't it ever feel like it's too much?"

He shakes his head and we sit in the quiet. He looks around the room again, and it makes me sad that he's surprised that I haven't trashed the place. Was I really so bad?

"You trying to clean up?" he asks.

It takes a lot for me to meet his eyes, but when I do, and I nod, his face softens. Not a lot, but it's there, and it makes me feel like maybe I haven't blown everything.

"Just been doing a lot of thinking. The kind that boozing doesn't help."

Emmet nods.

"I saw Bella yesterday."

"Yeah?" His voice is cautious and optimistic.

"She's doing good. She looks good."

"She coming to the show?"

"Nah, had to be in LA, I guess."

"Oh."

"So what's after this show? We're, uh, up in Portland I think?"

"And then?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, man. I think Carmen's got our schedule. We can check in with her tonight."

Carmen was our manager, and she did a hell of a job keeping us busy. Too busy.

Emmett stares at me, and for the first time in a long time, I stare back.

"You need time off," he says, and I nod. "Rehab? Shrink?"

I shake my head. "No rehab. Maybe a shrink. I don't know. I'm burning out. I puked up blood the other day."

Emmett nods; he's seen me do that before. "Can you get through the next few shows?"

"I think so. Yeah."

"Alright. I'll get it done. I'll talk to Carm - she'll get you…whatever you need."

I nod and bow my head. I'm so shaken by him, his simple approval of what I'm doing, his acceptance of my word that I want to get back to who I used to be. Tears sting my eyes and I swallow.

"Thanks," I say, and raise my head to face him. "Thank you."

He smiles at me, that big goofy grin that makes his dimples pop, and it's probably the first time he's smiled _at_ me in months. "Shit, brother. Whatever it takes. We're here for you, no matter what."

I breathe out, and nod my head. I don't want to let him down. I've let them all down enough, up until now. I have some making up to do.

* * *

AN:

My betas, who I love, are FDM, Kris and Amery Marie. How I got so lucky, I do not know. Any errors contained herein are mine and mine alone.

Please note that these chapters were beta'd some weeks ago.

On a personal note, I just want to say thank you, to all of you who have be so incredibly kind over the last few days. Truly, this fandom is filled with some of the loveliest people. Thank you.


	5. When I Call

AN: Written for Bookjunkie1975. She owns a little piece of me, and always will.

* * *

**The History of Now**

**Chapter Five – When I Call**

.

.

_**Eighteen months later:**_

The spring air in Southern California is warm. It feels like a hand against my skin, when the hot currents mix with the cool. I've got a nice house in a nice neighborhood in Laguna Beach. I've got a shelf full of awards, a tiny-ass recording studio downstairs, and three framed covers from Rolling Stone. The maid comes five days a week, and in the last year, I've become a pretty decent cook.

Life? I feel like I'm winning.

My phone rings, and it's Emmett.

"Yo."

"What up, G?"

"Col' chillin'. S'up with you?"

"Nothin', homie."

Not able to take it anymore, I bust out laughing. "Homie? What's next, are you gonna tell me about your fly new ride? Is it 'the bomb?'"

Emmett laughs and the easy sound makes me grin.

"_Da_ bomb, loser. Just letting you know we're all set for tonight. Char and Peter's at eight. Okay?"

"Yep, I'll be there."

"You ready for this?"

I smile. A year ago the idea was still a worm, wiggling around in my head, trying to find its way to the light. Now it's different. Now I know exactly what I want, and I'm willing to live with their rejection if it's not what they need.

"Dude, just ask your mom. I was _born_ ready."

"Dude, I don't even know what that means."

"Just…shut up. I'm ready."

Emmett laughs and hangs up, reminding me again that Peter and Char live on East Canyon Road, not West Canyon Road.

I grab my messenger bag and stuff two composition books into it. I think about having a beer, maybe watching a little baseball to kill the time, but instead I grab my guitar and start picking out a tune that's been chasing around in my brain all day.

The notes come easy, and I pause every few minutes to mark up the sheet music, getting it down so I don't forget. I've spent months doing this - working out the words, working out the tune. If they like what they hear, my dreams and my fears could become my reality. If they don't…if they don't, I'm gonna have to play that by ear. This feels bigger than just them and me. I need to sing my own songs.

My phone buzzes and it's an email from Bella. In the year and a half since I last saw her, we've developed a smooth and easy friendship. It would be different, I think, if we hung out together-ever-but we don't. We could have made some sort of get together happen by now, but we haven't. I wonder what that means. Maybe I just like having her as a ghost in my machine.

Bella graduated from her program in the spring, around the time I'd gotten myself under control enough to start working regularly again. Before that, we did shows here and there, enough publicity to keep our names up and relevant, but when it came to writing new music, I felt lost. It took awhile before I got back to good.

Her last email told me about how she was spending some time up in Northern Washington with her dad. She'd attached some photos that she'd taken: the land was dark and gray and green, and it reminded me, a lot, of that little beachside motel where I'd finally had my 'come to Jesus' moment.

It was a long road back from there. It took a little while for all of them to believe me - believe in me - that the man I was showing them was the real me, and that I wasn't going to just dive back into the drinking and sex and drugs. In fact, I'd actually gone to a few AA meetings. Thing was, they didn't really suit me, so I bowed out and managed myself with a little help from a life coach that Carmen hooked us up with.

Eleazar, my life coach, is Carmen's husband, and watching the two of them, they make sense. She was a tornado, a whirlwind. And he is calm. Placid. He helps me get at the root of what's going on in my head. He taught me a bunch of breathing exercises and stress management techniques, and they really help me come off the high of performing, without the booze and the sex and the pills, prescription and otherwise.

I have two rules that I never break: No drugs, ever, and the only time I can have a drink is when I don't _need_ one.

A flick of my finger over my phone brings up Bella's message:

_J-_

_I am officially living in one of the rainiest places in the world. The WORLD! I wonder if I can incorporate rain into a piece? Maybe some installation that "showers" the viewer? IDK. (oh yeah, I say IDK now. It's a thing.)_

_Wishing I was in warmer climes,_

_B._

And that's it. I laugh, knowing how much she loves the sun and ocean. She's attached a dozen photographs, all of rugged, northern coast lines. Huge piles of driftwood litter the shore, and in her gaze, through her lens, they become walkways to another world.

I thumb out a quick reply:

_Awesome pix. Would love to get in your head someday._

I haven't told any of the guys that we're still in touch. It's weird. I mean, she's my ex-girlfriend. She's…she's someone I used to love. And now, she's someone that I tell most of my secrets to. But I don't know if she knows that. I mean, even when the subject is heavy, and personal, we never get that way. I don't talk about my love life (or the recent lack thereof), and she doesn't talk about hers.

I wonder though, some nights. I wonder, when I have my fist wrapped around my cock and I'm remembering what she smells like, how she breathes, I wonder if she thinks about me that way, too. If she remembers it like I do.

I know she trusts me. I know I mean something to her, like she does to me. Am I the only one she's letting in, inside her? I wish I knew.

About six months ago I got an email from her. At that point, we were emailing maybe once a week, give or take a few days. The message said she was flying out to Jacksonville to see her mom. Her mom found a lump, and the doctors were doing some tests. The tone of her message was conversational and chatty, which wasn't like her at all. Bella usually says what she means.

_You doing okay?_ I typed out to her.

_Yeah. I'm…I'm scared,_ was her reply.

I dialed her old number and let out a sigh of relief when she answered.

"I didn't think you'd still have this number."

"Who…? Oh my god, Jasper!" She sounded like gold on the phone. We talked about trivial shit until there was a lull in the conversation.

"You know it's gonna be okay, right?"

"I know, I'm just…."

"I know, little girl. But no matter what, you'll get through it. You'll be great."

"Thank you. For this – for calling."

We both listened to the silence on the phone, and I didn't feel any need to fill it.

"I've…" she started, then stopped herself. "Would you call me again?"

"Yeah. I'd like that."

And that was the start of it. We spent hours on the phone, talking about everything, and it was incredible. With her, I can be exactly who I am, who I want to be, because there are no expectations. I'm not trying to get her into bed and she's not trying to use me for anything. It's just us.

I'd missed her, so much.

It got to the point that I started calling her after most of our shows. She'd always been a night owl, and she spent late nights painting and sculpting, and doing whatever it is she does.

When she graduated, I wanted to go see her, but I didn't want to create a stir. Instead, I got the number of a gallery from her department chair. It was in the part of LA that was trying to be an arts mecca, but failed because most rich people have shitty taste.

I bought two of her drawings and one of her sculptures. I framed them up and hung one outside of the studio and the other in my office. It's calming, seeing her work there on the wall. Something about how she sees the world and gets that onto paper – I can't explain it, but it feels good to look at it. To have these pieces of her.

I take one last look at the painting in my office, and then head out to Pete and Char's place. I try to put Bella out of my mind for the drive, but I can't help but wonder what she's doing tonight, and with whom. I think that talking to the band about the music I've been writing, about the songs I've been writing, would be easier with her there.

When I pull into their drive, I pull out my phone.

_Wish me luck? _I ask.

It takes a few minutes for her to respond. I try to look busy in case anyone sees me, just sitting there in my car.

_Good luck! Tell me what for?_

_Another time. Thank you._

With that, I walk into the meeting that could determine my future.

.

"Hey hey," she says.

I'm still high from my meeting with the guys. They were so receptive. Charlotte almost looked relieved. I couldn't believe they'd had that kind of faith in me. Of course, now comes the hard part. The actually doing it – recording and playing and letting my words be heard by anyone who cares to listen. I felt stripped bare, revealing those songs tonight. I'm not sure how I'll do it in front of twenty thousand people.

"What'cha up to, little girl?"

Bella sighs and tells me about her day. She's working on something new that combines pieces of wood with large-scale paintings – maybe murals. As she explains it to me, I feel the tension from the evening melt away. She paints a detailed picture of her work with her words, and I find myself drawn in to her vision.

"…so I'm standing there with a freaking hacksaw, trying to get this thing cut down to size, when my friend Jake shows up with a chainsaw and saves the day. But, now I have four good pieces, so I'm going into town tomorrow for an awl, so I can carve out the rest of the nooks."

My stomach clutches up when she says the word Jake. Who the fuck is Jake? My mind flips through everything I know about her, and none of it includes some guy named Jake.

Friend.

Is he a friend-friend? Or a naked-friend?

The jealousy surges through me and I realize that I'm holding my breath.

"Jasper? Did I lose you? Hello?"

The insistence in her voice brings me back to the conversation.

"Yeah. Uh, yeah. I just – hey, I need to go, okay? Sorry. Uhm, call you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine, girl. I'll call you tomorrow."

I hang up the phone and see my hands are shaking. I want to track down this Jake fucker and punch him.

And then I realize…I just don't have that right. I look around my house and I can see it now, how I've been waiting for her. How I haven't been on a date or even fucked a groupie in months, because it doesn't feel right to be with anyone but her.

Because I'd rather be home on the phone with her, than out with anyone else.

Because I'm still-

The realization brings me up short.

Because I'm still in love with her.

.

Things between us are odd after that. Stilted.

Our conversations feel weightier, as I push her for more of herself. At first, she pulls back, reticent to come with me as our talks turn personal. But slowly, she comes forward, and it feels like she's – like she's putting her hand in mine. Trusting me.

I really like the way it makes me feel.

But I don't know what she wants, and she never gives me a hint. So, I settle for what I do know: that when I call, she answers. That when I'm coming off the stage and I need to get back to normal, talking to her helps. That when I wake up rubbing my cock against the mattress, it's her I've been dreaming about.

For now, dreams will have to do.

.

We're finally home from the European tour. Two months, thirty countries – at least, that's what it felt like.

What I want to do is crash the fuck out and sleep for a month. Instead, I call Bella. It's been hard hooking up with her – the time zones have been so different. An hour later though, I'm stretched out in bed with my phone cradled against my shoulder while I pull up the blankets.

"What'cha up to, little girl?"

"Hey, hi. How are you?"

"I'm alright. Doing anything?"

"Oh, God, you're gonna laugh at me."

I chuckle. I love when she's like this. "Okay, now you have to tell me."

"I'm – don't tell Emmett?"

I want to tell her not to worry, because she's my big fat secret, but I don't want to go there. Instead, I just say sure.

"I'm learning the drum solo from "The End."

"Beatles?"

"Yeah. I got Rock Band and it's – God, all of Abbey Road is so kick ass, but that drum solo – it's like it makes my heart pound hearing it."

We talk music for a little bit – mostly about how certain songs can take you back to a time in your life when they were played a lot, for whatever reason. It's a good, distracting conversation.

"Hey," I say, changing the subject. "Any chance you'll be in LA in September?"

"Doubt it. I've been meeting with a guy down in Portland – he's really interested in my ideas and said he has gallery space for me. I'll probably be working."

"Oh, okay."

"Why, what's up?"

I shrug, even though she can't see me. "We've got a few shows coming up. I thought you might want to see one."

"Shit. I'd love to, Jasper, I just don't think I'll have a chance."

"No big. Listen, I'm gonna get off of here and crash. Talk soon?"

"Yeah. Hey, say hi to Sabrina for me."

It's the way we end all our conversations – Bella cracking jokes about me bedding various starlets, pop-stars and models. The first few times, it may have been funny. Lately, though, it pisses me off, and it makes me sad.

I bite my lip and there's silence on the line.

"Jas?"

"Why do you do that?"

"About the girls?"

"Yeah, you know, I'm not a manwhore, Bella. I haven't even been laid in the last six months."

She doesn't say anything, and we let the silence burn between us.

I hear her suck in a breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't…realize it bothered you."

"Why do you do it?"

In the months that we'd been talking, we'd both stayed away from anything too personal. After her mom's tests came back okay, we just never went there again.

"I don't know…it makes it..." Her voice trails off, and my instinct is to fill the quiet. Instead, I use one of Eleazar's tricks and stay quiet myself. I want to see what she'll say.

"Sometimes when we talk, it's like it was before. I forget who you are. It's just how I remind myself."

Her voice is quiet, and I hate what she's saying to me.

"I like that you forget that, Bella. I like that when we talk, it's just us, and not all the bullshit that comes with my job."

"I'm sorry – you're right. It's shitty of me. I won't do it again."

Her words are clear but her voice is small. I feel like I've scolded a child, and that pisses me off a little, but I'm not sure if I'm mad at me or her.

"Hey, it's nothing," I say, pissed off at myself for lying. "Anyway, you gotta go, and so do I. Talk soon?"

"Yeah. Soon. Bye, Jasper."

"Bye, Bella."

Thing is, though, we don't talk soon. A few days go by, and then a few more, and before I know it, it's been two months and she hasn't called me. But I haven't called her either. Part of me wants to, because a lot of me misses her. The other part of me though, is playing it safe. My feelings for her are mixed up in what I want from her, and what I want from myself, and what I want for each of us, in the future. My feelings for her are mixed up in who we used to be, and who we are now.

I'm thinking this all over and getting ready to go write when my phone buzzes with an email from her.

_J-_

_I miss you, miss talking to you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings._

_-B_

When I call, she answers on the first ring.

* * *

AN: Beta'd by Kris and FDM and Amery Marie. They give me commas and gentle guidance. I would be lost without them. Any errors herein are mine and mine alone.


	6. The Stage is Dark

This was written for Bookjunkie1975. She rocks my world, that one.

* * *

**The History of Now**

**Chapter Six – The Stage is Dark, and the Natives are Restless**

.

.

The stage is dark and the natives are restless. I gulp down a bottle of water and then some warm cider. The juice is soothing on my vocal cords, and I need it. I just spent the last hour and a half throwing everything I had into our songs, feeding it to the crowd.

Nervous energy eats at me, as does the adrenaline. I'd really hoped that Bella would be at the show, but now, I'm glad she isn't. I don't think I could go out there and sing this song, if I knew she was listening.

Emmett comes by and claps me on the back.

"You ready?"

I nod and pick up my acoustic from the stage hand.

Char gives me a hug, not even noticing the sweat that covers me. "You're going to be great," she says, looking me dead in the eye. "They're going to love it. It's good. You're good."

I sigh and try to take her words to heart. The rest of the guys crowd around me. Peter gives me a light sock to the arm. Riley squeezes my shoulder.

"Thanks, guys."

I head out onto the stage.

As I begin to play, a solo spot lights me up. The crowd cheers as my fingers trip over the notes that I've played thirty times a day for the last six months, getting everything just right.

"This is something new," I say, and the crowd roars. "Hope you like it."

As the intro deepens and I sing the first verse, I hear Emmett pick up behind me. Another, softer spot lights him up, and when Riley and Peter come in for the chorus, the stage lights with a low glow. I can still see the crowd in the first few rows, and they're quiet, their faces open, as they listen to me spill my guts, singing my heart for them in rhymed verse.

After the bridge, the guys fade out, one-by-one, leaving me alone on the stage as I sigh the last words.

I close my eyes and wait. It takes me a moment, then two, to realize that the roar in my ears isn't just my own panicky heartbeat. It's them, the crowd, and they loved it. They loved my song.

The faces in the front row are smiling, and there's a girl with a tear rolling down her face. I lean down and take her hand, smiling. She smiles back, and that's it – it's the communion between musician and listener. It's the communion of sharing with her who I am, and her acceptance, her approval. It's a high like nothing else.

The stage lights up again and the guys come out. We launch into two more new songs – one of mine and one of Char's.

Coming off the set, I feel amazing. Like I'm flying. Peter dives right into Charlotte's arms. Riley – who came out of the closet about a year ago – starts kissing one of the roadies. It only takes him a second to get the guy backed up against the wall, his hips grinding into the other guy.

While I don't really care who he fucks, I'm not all that interested in watching it happen in front of me. I walk off to the dressing room and Carm's backstage, waiting for me with my phone in her hand.

She hands it off without a word, but I see her silent approval shining in her eyes. She knows what a big step this was for me, and she's proud.

What I am is anxious. I wanted Bella to be here, so bad. I wanted her to hear what I had to say to her.

I think about calling her, but wait. I feel like things are coming to a head. Like I'm going to have to push her, and risk losing her, because where we're at isn't where I want to be. I need to walk forward, or walk away. I can't be in limbo with her my whole life.

I grab a cold bottle of water and suck it down. Then a cold bottle of beer. I want something to shake loose this itching inside of me. I'm startled when my phone buzzes in my pocket.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, you busy?"

Her voice is so sweet to me that I feel my tension break in two.

I sigh. "Yeah, just came off stage. Gonna be up in an hour?"

"Sure," she says. "Call me whenever."

There's something odd in her voice, and I want to tell her to wait so that I can figure it out, but Emmett comes through the door yelling and cheering, and Bella says goodbye and hangs up.

"Who was that?" he asks.

"No one. Hey, man, fucking…amazing show. You were awesome."

Emmett cocks an eyebrow at me. "Same no one you call every night after a show?"

"Shut up," I say. He does, but he gives me a look that says we're going to have a talk about whatever secret I'm keeping. He keeps me honest, calls me on my shit, and I love him for it. But for now, I need him to let it go until I know what's what.

Forty-five minutes later, I'm pacing around my hotel room. We're in San Francisco, and this city always makes me itchy.

It's the place where I lost her. It's the place where I last saw her.

I've had a hot shower, and I'm in clean clothes. I have too much energy to go to bed, and I'm – I want to celebrate, and it strikes me again that I don't have someone to do that with. The people around me are happy and in relationships, and Emmett, well, I don't know if he'll ever tire of fucking groupies. Whatever, it's working for him, so I'm happy for him.

But I feel like I spent all this time getting my shit together, and now that I have, I want – I deserve – to be happy. I deserve someone. Who loves me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I thumb it to silence.

Then I remember Bella, and my promise to call her back. I flick my thumb across the screen and see that I've missed her call. I hit redial and hold my breath until she answers.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey. Hi. How, uh, how are you?"

"Man, you're really keyed up tonight, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Listen, are you busy?"

"No. I mean, I don't know. I was thinking about going out."

"Oh."

"But I can talk, if you want."

"I just…are you at the Drake?"

"What? Yeah – how did you…?"

"You guys always stay here."

"Here? Wait, are you in town?"

"I'm, ah…shit. I'm not a crazy stalker, okay? You know that, right?"

"What?"

"I'm in the lobby. Can I…Jasper, can I see you?"

My heart pounds so hard I can see it through my t-shirt. She's here. She's an elevator ride away.

"Wait. Wait there. I'm coming down."

It takes thirteen years for the elevator to come and fourteen for it to hit the lobby. When the doors open, she's there.

Long dark hair and a heart shaped face. Big brown eyes, and she looks…God, so good. But…scared?

"Hey." I reach out for her because I can see that she's trembling.

"Hey," I say again, and pull her close to me, pull her in to the elevator.

I punch the button for my floor and slide my keycard in for access. She's still shaking in my arms and I hold her tighter.

"Bella, what is it?"

She shakes her head against my chest, and the soft ping of the elevator lets me know we're at my suite.

"C'mon." I take her hand and lead her in, closing the door behind me.

"What's going on?" She presses her face into my chest and breathes deep. I tighten my grip, holding her close.

"It was yours, wasn't it? You wrote it."

My breath catches in my throat.

"Are you…did you see the show?"

She nods. "Did you…" She pushes back from me, her eyes bright and serious on mine. "Did you mean it? Do you still…" Her chin quivers and she looks down, away from me.

"I miss the girl with the world in her eyes/I miss the girl who showed me how to watch the sun rise./Time and distance might have torn us apart/but she's here in my soul/she's here, here, here in my heart."

I sing the words to her, the words I wrote for her. And she unravels before my eyes. Tears slide down her cheeks and, a moment later, I feel the sweet press of her arms against my face before her hands fist my shirt.

"I didn't – I missed you," she says, between sobs. "I missed you so much, and I'm so stupid and I don't – did you forgive me? How could you forgive me?"

"Baby, shhh." I hold her close and rub her back.

"How can you? It's not…I'm not-"

"You're so wrong. You're worth it."

I pull back and look her in the eyes. She's still crying, trying to hold it back, the tears making warm, wet tracks down her cheeks.

"I love you, Bella. It's always been you."

She breaks my gaze and looks down, then reaches up and holds my face in her hands.

"I love you," she says. "I have never not loved you."

I can't stop myself. I hold her tight, so tight. My knees give and we're in a pile on the floor. She's straddling me and I have my arms wrapped around her waist, until I bring one hand up into her hair.

"If you're about done crying," I say, "I would really like to kiss you."

She laughs and wipes her face in the crook of her elbow. "You can't," she says, burying her face in my neck. "I'm all snotty."

"I don't give a fuck," I say, and she giggles. I hold her face in my hands. "I've been waiting so long."

I brush my mouth against hers, and it's warm and soft and exactly like I remembered.

My heart does double time and then it does some funny, tripping thing in my chest as she presses herself closer to me.

"Missed you, God, I – I missed you." Her voice is light and breathy and I can feel her words against my mouth. Her tongue is hot and sweet against mine, and I arch up, trying to get closer.

"Shit, Bella. I fucking-" My fingers dig into her sides as I pull her down to my lap. I want her. I am so filled with want of her - six months worth of celibacy and four fucking years worth of wanting her – that I can hardly breathe.

"Please," she whispers, and presses her hips against mine.

But it doesn't feel right. I can't make this about a lay, not the first time in four years that I've touched her like this. My mind races to create other options – slow dancing and romantic candle light, and that's not right either. It's too planned and feels like a fraud.

"Bella." My fingers tighten on her hips and I press myself up against her. "I want you, baby." My hips thrust into her and my fingers go up, into her hair.

"Yes," she moans. She's breathing harder and faster, and so am I.

"Need, need you," her voice is feather soft in my ear. "Jasper."

I tip my head back and watch her. Her hips buck and she's hot and so fucking ready. My cock throbs as her hips press against me again.

"Fuck, Bella. God, yeah, that's it, right…" I stop talking because I can't breathe. I look up into her face and it looks like she's in pain, but then with one more pass of her hips, she breaks apart, there on top of me. The small, soft moans are my undoing, and I come in my pants like a fucking kid.

I catch my breath while she's catching hers, and then we look at each other and laugh. A minute later, we're rolling on the floor, clutching our stomachs and laughing.

"Oh my God," she says, gasping for breath. "What are you, fifteen?"

"Fuck you," I say, wiping tears from my eyes. "Like you're any better."

She laughs. "I know, I know, and now I'm all sticky."

I look down at my pants, still laughing. She rolls toward me and I reach out and grab her, pulling her close. She turns in my arms, her warm eyes on mine.

"You're here," I say.

"I'm here." She grins and catches my mouth with hers.

The urgency, the hard and fast need, is gone. In its place is something soft, that calms me, makes me feel like I'm standing on solid ground that could never quake.

"Come on," I say, standing and pulling her up with me. "The bathtub in this place is amazing."

.

I lead her into the bathroom, and we're both awkward as we wait for the tub to fill. I should probably let her get cleaned up on her own, but now that she's here, flesh and blood, I need to be with her. Need to touch her.

I ease her clothes off of her, my fingers steady against her blush. I kiss the top of her head and lead her to the water, then remove my own clothes, trying not to wave my dick in front of her. Trying not to wonder what she thinks of me naked, before I climb in after her.

We clean up, warm water sluicing around us, washing away our eager reunion. There in the tub, with the water buffeting us, we float in each other's arms. I want her, my body reacting to her smooth skin and the warmth of her as much as my heart reacts to the soft sounds of her voice.

We climb out of the tub, and there's no way for me to hide my cock. She stares, then blushes crimson when she catches me watching her. I shrug and grin in response, wrapping a big towel around her before taking one for myself and tying it around my hips.

In the bedroom, I rummage through my suitcase and find a clean shirt for her. I hold up a pair of my boxers and she grins, but takes them. I pull on my own clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, but no underwear, because she's wearing them.

Then it's awkward.

She looks around the bedroom, looks out to the living room, and then sits on the edge of the bed.

I walk to the bed and pull back the covers.

"It's after three," I say.

"Oh. Oh, yeah. I, uh…" She looks around the room and I get that she's misunderstood me.

I reach out and take her hand. "Stay with me."

It's an order, but I'm begging, too.

Her fingers squeeze against mine and she nods. "Yeah."

"Yeah."

* * *

AN: Beta'd by Kris and FDM and Amery Marie. I love them a lot. Probably more than they know.


	7. All I Need

Written for bookjunkie1975. I hope she knows how much she means to me.

* * *

**The History of Now**

**Chapter Seven – All I Need**

.

.

_**Eight months later:**_

I wake up to too bright sunlight punching through the blinds. I stretch against the sheets, looking for her warm, but all I find is cool linen under my hands.

I prop myself up on my elbows, my morning wood trapped between me and the mattress in a way that isn't entirely unpleasant. I roll out of bed and stumble through the house, looking for the girl and hoping she'll scratch my itch.

Instead, I find a note and a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. I drink it, tart and sweet and cold, and when the sugar hits my blood I find the will to put on clothes.

Ambling through the house, I look around and see the pieces of our life together. Her art, in various stages of composition, litters every available surface. There's nothing she touches that she puts away, and the maid is forbidden from touching any of it.

I grimace at the clutter, but it warms me, too. The times I've had to be without her, either for my job or hers, were hard and hurtful because, now that I have her in the flesh, her voice on the line is a poor substitute.

It's not perfect, and we've both sacrificed, but it's worth it. It's worth anything to have her in my hands, to feel the calm of her fingers on my skin, and when she looks me in the eye and says everything will be alright, well, I have to believe. In her. In us.

She's left me a note scrawled on the blackboard in the kitchen.

_Come find me,_ it says. So I do.

I stand up on the patio and look out over the beach. I can see her there, hair whipping around in the wind as she crouches over a tide pool. She's been collecting sea glass all week, working on some kind of ocean-themed piece that she's calling "Little Treasures."

I take the steps fast and then she's there in my arms. She's wearing cut-off shorts and her legs seem so long as she wraps herself around me.

"Morning, baby," she says. Her voice is soft and husky, and without a word, I turn around and take her back up to the house.

She holds on and kisses my neck, her mouth warm and sucking on my skin as she squirms in my arms. In the last eight months, I've had her so many times, and it's never enough. My fingers dig into the backs of her thighs, but I won't set her down until we hit the bed.

"Jasper." She moans against my skin, and pushes her breasts against me. The tank top she's wearing hides nothing, and when I look down I can see the creamy swells of her skin.

"Fuck, Bella." I lay her down on the bed and pull away, but she won't untangle her legs. I reach between them and press my palm to her, as she whines and moves against me.

My fingers climb up her body and peel away her shirt. I can never not stare at how beautiful she is. I can never not burn for her - just the smell of her sets me off, just the sound of her voice. Our first month back together she had to take antibiotics because we couldn't keep our hands off each other.

It's different from before, too. It's urgent and mad, but it's also soft in a way. There's love in every touch, and we both know what it's like to be apart. Now, even when we're apart for days, it makes us anxious and tense. Got so bad, Carm started getting Bella's schedule before she started booking shows, just so no one would have to put up with my surly ass if we were apart for too long.

I press into her and she makes a soft, gasping sound. It's the same every time I get inside her, and I feel her whole body tighten in response. And just like that, it flips, and I'm no longer pushing into her to get off, I'm pushing into to make her feel good, to watch her underneath me, soft and yielding, giving herself to me, and I am such a lucky fucking man.

I can feel from the way she's reacting that she'll come fast, and if she comes on my cock, I'll lose it. I draw back and put my mouth on her and her fingers scratch into my hair. She twists and pulls at it, the sounds she makes driving me crazy. I drive my tongue into her, not going slow, not taking my time, but drowning in the taste of her. When she melts against me, I groan into her flesh, because nothing – nothing – nothing feels as good as feeling her spin apart, knowing I made it happen.

Then I'm back inside of her and she's lucid enough to move against me, eyes closed and mouth open, and I feel like I can drown there in her, in the pink of her mouth and the heat of her surrounding me.

We lay against the pillows, the sheets a thin cover in the warm morning.

"You ready for tomorrow?" she asks.

"I think so, yeah."

"Nervous?" She asks the question against my skin, giving me space to hide if I want it.

I nod. "Yeah, but…this is what I want."

A few months back Char got pregnant. She and Peter talked it over, and decided that staying home with the kid was what they both wanted. After that, Rye and Em started working on a side-project, and with my notebooks full of words and Bella by my side, I realized the time was right for a solo album.

I have a show tomorrow night – a small place not far from the house, but it's sold out. I don't know what they're going to want from me. It's just me and my guitar, me and my words. I hope that they'll love it, that they'll still love me, but even if they don't, it doesn't matter. _She_ loves me, and that's all I need.

* * *

AN: FDM and Kris are my alphas and betas. I would be lost without them. Amery Marie gave it a final looking over, and wrangled more commas than I thought possible. At this point, any errors are mine.

Special thanks to farkle, who gave me some great information about art and art schools. A lot of that didn't make it into the story, but it informed the story, regardless. Thank you so much, sweet.

I wrote most of this to the songs of Abby Road. Make of that what you will.

Thank you so much for reading.


End file.
